by Jane Steen
Sarah slid off her chair and ran to fetch slate and chalk. “Is Oliver going to inherit money? I thought he was a pauper. Will I inherit money?”
“I’m sure your papa will make an appropriate settlement.” Miss Baker smiled as she took the slate. “Now, read the rest of the paragraph, and we’ll look at all of it together.”
“May I read it to Mama again later? I want to get better at it first.” Sarah looked up at me and wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps you’d better go see Tess, Mama.”
I made my way to the door accompanied by Sarah’s attempts to do her best with the rest of the paragraph, which she punctuated with cries of astonishment or condemnation as she got to the parts about flogging and beating. This is a child who questions everything, I reflected. Just like Papa. I lingered, fascinated, watching my daughter striving to learn and understand.
And what lesson had I derived this morning? I wondered as I shut the door. Perhaps it was that babyhood was so quickly over. I ran my hand over the area below my waist. I have to make room for this child in my life.
Tess turned around in surprise as I knocked on the open door of her sitting room and entered what Martin called “the Pink Domain.” It was fresh and pretty with its gauzy curtains, figured wallpaper, and contrasting white paint. Tess was struggling with the sash window; the temperature outdoors was climbing fast, as it often did in mid-April, and the room was warm.
“Why didn’t you ring for help?” I opened the window easily, my greater height and longer arms giving me an immense advantage over Tess. A fresh breeze blew in, making the curtains billow and bringing the sound of the chickadee’s two-note salute.
“I figured I could do it. Nell, I thought you were at the store. Don’t you have a meeting with Mr. Fassbinder?”
“My presence wasn’t strictly necessary, and I was under the weather. I’m all right now.” I made my way to the armchair opposite the one that was Tess’s habitual choice. “How was the market?”
“There were some very nice fresh chickens.” Tess beamed. “Two to roast and one to make into soup. Mostly for you, Nell.”
My stomach gave a tiny growl, followed by a faint wave of nausea. “Are you going to see Aileen today?” I asked to distract myself.
Tess wrinkled her nose. “She might have Father Doonan over again, and I don’t like him. He smells of drink. And he never stops talking. I guess I’ll stay right here this afternoon, or maybe I’ll have Donny drive me around a little anyway.” Her eyes brightened at the prospect. “I saw him on the way home from the market, and he said I looked very pretty. Sometimes I think he’s growing fond of me, but I can’t work out how to get him to say that.”
“Don’t ask me to solve that conundrum.” I smiled. “I’m determined to leave well alone. Have you seen any more of Annie?”
“She’s walking out with a tall boy who drives a scrap cart.” Tess beamed. “That’s what Donny says. I asked him straight out if he was sweet on her, and he said she’s just a friend and she flirts with the stable hands anyway, and he doesn’t hold with women who flirt.”
My eyebrows rose. “If only it were always so easy to be rid of a rival. You could come to the store with me if you like. I’m lazy today and probably won’t get much done.”
Tess was silent for a few moments, her eyes on me.
“Are you making a baby, Nell?” she asked eventually.
“What makes you say that?”
Tess angled her head to one side, considering my person from head to toe. “You look different. Sort of softer all around the edges.”
“I’m haggard.”
“You look a little tired. Not quite as handsome as usual.”
“I may just be losing my looks.” Tess’s remark had not helped my mood, I discovered.
“So are you?”
“Am I what?” I was not inclined to be helpful. I hadn’t wanted to tell Tess, not yet.
“Having a baby.” Tess sighed. “Martin would be so happy.”
I felt the prick of tears behind my eyes and cursed inwardly. I had not been prone to crying when I was carrying Sarah—what was wrong with me? I seemed to weep at the drop of a hat now. I compressed my lips, trying to decide whether it would be better to tell Tess now or to wait until some future moment and make a formal announcement with Martin at my side. And then I realized I wasn’t even capable of thinking, let alone deciding on a course of action and sticking to it.
“He is happy,” I said baldly. “I told him this morning. Yes, I’m with child.”
I expected Tess to clap her hands or leap from her chair or bounce up and down, the way she usually did when she heard good news. But she stayed in her seat; a smile spread across her round face, but it was an oddly serene one.
“When we were at the Poor Farm together, you never seemed to care all that much for your baby inside you,” she said. “If I asked you about the baby, you always changed the subject. But when Sarah was born, you liked her better.”
“When we were at the Poor Farm, I had decided I was giving my child away,” I said drily. “There didn’t seem much point in getting attached. It wasn’t until we found the bodies of poor Jo and especially little Benjamin that I began to fret over the idea of somebody else looking after my baby. Started to believe only I could keep her safe.”
“So if we’d never found them, you would have been all right with giving Sary away?”
The tears threatened again, and this time I had to dash the water from my eyes. “I’m sorry.” I fumbled for my handkerchief. “I seem to have turned sentimental.”
“I don’t think you would have, not really.” That odd serenity again, an assured confidence that was a rare expression with Tess except when she was reading her Bible. “It’s not like you. Oh, you’re always rushing around fussing after your blessed gowns and worrying what Madame thinks of your sketches—and when you get an idea in your head for a dress, you might as well be on the moon for all the attention you pay to any of us. But we all know how much you love us. The dresses, well, that’s just your special gift from God. You’d burn them all up in an instant if any of us needed you.”
“Would I?” The notion startled me. “I don’t imagine I’m a particularly good mother. Or wife.”
“Only because you want to be perfect at everything. We’re all happy, Nell, so you can’t be that bad.”
“There was a point where you were convinced you’d be better off with your family,” I pointed out.
“Only because I listened to Mary and Aileen, silly.” Tess chuckled. “Now I listen to Da and Billy. The men in my family have more sense than the women. And you won’t keep reminding me of that, will you? You’re my family, Nell.” Her brow creased. “But if I can get Donny to want to marry me, supposing he wants to live somewhere else?”
“Then you’ll go with him, with our blessing. Doesn’t the Bible say you leave your family and cleave to your husband?”
Now Tess laughed. “You’ve got it wrong, Nell. You really should listen in church. But I guess it would be all right to cleave to Donny. Only I would be very sad to go away.”
“So would I.”
I leaned forward as Tess sprang out of her chair, and we indulged in a long hug that brought the easy tears to my eyes again. I wasn’t at all myself; I was tired and sick and emotional, and somehow everything looked different, wrong, as if I had stepped into some kind of mirror world.
“I should go to the store,” I said after I’d sniffed and applied my handkerchief to my ridiculously moist eyes. “We’ve less than two weeks until the ball gown demonstration and Madame will be wondering if I’m going to put in an appearance at rehearsals. If Martin asks, you’ll tell him I had a good rest this morning, won’t you?”
“No, I won’t lie for you.” Tess patted me on my shoulder. “You’ve been stalking around the house fretting, haven’t you?” She drew back to look at me. “Are you unhappy because you don’t imagine you’ll be a good mother to this little baby?” She grinned and put a small hand on the
lower part of my bodice.
Now the tears were falling in earnest, eluding all my efforts to stem them with my handkerchief. “Oh, Tess. Why do you always have to be so wise?” I snatched up the small hand and kissed it. “I’m sorry, now I’ve made your hand wet. I’m ashamed for not being as delighted about this child as Martin is, I guess.”
I had to stop to blow my nose, which was surely quite red by now. I’d have to bathe my face all over again. My head ached, which made me as sick as I had been first thing in the morning.
“You’ll get over it.” Tess kissed my forehead. “You’ll see. You knew when you married Martin that babies would follow.”
“Do you want babies?” It occurred to me how selfish I was being. But to my surprise, Tess shook her head.
“Not really. I have quite enough to do with everyone else’s. But if God wants me to have babies, I guess He’ll give me enough love for them. Now you go up and bathe your face, and I’ll get Beatrice to bring you a little something to eat and drink before you go to the store.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
Tess gave me a stern look. “You have to try. You can’t faint with the hunger, Madame says. You’ll see—I’ll make you feel better.”
34
Substitute
Tess’s ministrations had the desired effect. She ordered both lemonade and tea; I discovered that the sharp taste of lemon, which I had always loved, was even more palatable than usual. After a few sips, I could nibble on the plain shortbread cookies, which were fresh and not too sweet.
After another half an hour, I was ready to send round to the stables for the landau, enduring the ride to the store with something approaching cheerfulness. It helped that the bright sun and rising temperatures were greening up Chicago’s trees and patches of grass and causing a fresh, verdant growth of weeds to sprout from any untended foot of dirt.
By the time I arrived at the store, I had shaken off my maudlin mood and was looking forward to seeing the latest rehearsal in the Rose Room. The sound of a piano assured me that a rehearsal was in progress. I pushed open the door quietly to see a dozen men and women revolving around the gleaming wood floor.
One of the women was entirely unexpected. I cast a sharp glance at Madame, but her expression of fierce concentration warned me comments would be unwelcome until she herself indicated readiness to hear them. I stood and watched, slightly bothered by the bobbing motions of the dancers but increasingly forgetful of my own troubles. An explanation would be forthcoming, I was sure.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” was my only, and very mild, remark as Thea Lombardi freed herself from her partner with an abruptness that produced a decidedly sulky expression on young Mr. Mangan’s face. He was not used to shopgirls failing to gaze adoringly at his broad shoulders, neatly pomaded locks, and firm chin. Upon Madame’s announcement that there would be a fifteen-minute break, he strode from the room, shrugging as if he wished to disassociate himself from every woman in his vicinity.
“I’ve been taking lessons in dancing and deportment.” Thea curled her lip in disdain as she smoothed her uniform where it showed the imprint of Mr. Mangan’s large hand. Soon the dancers would be rehearsing in full dress, including gloves.
“Really? I never thought you’d be interested. After all, we tried lessons when you first came here.”
I attempted to sound lighthearted, but my words rang with a falsely jovial note. I suspected Thea remembered only too well, as did I, how egregiously rude she had been to the teachers I’d engaged for her during those first terrible weeks of her residence at the Palmer House.
“Miss Dardenne suggested I try.” Thea’s face gave nothing away. “My dancing master says I am extremely musical.”
“You dance well.”
“Not as well as Miss Dorrian, but you will do nicely, Miss Lombardi. Thank you for offering yourself as a substitute.” Madame, who had been hovering at my elbow, spoke with quiet conviction. Thea received her remark without emotion, dipping her head politely at the two of us before moving away to speak to one of the house models.
“Is Miss Dorrian sick?” I asked as Madame Belvoix and I moved toward the back of the room.
“Not sick, no. Gone.” The expression on Madame’s face boded ill for Miss Dorrian if she ever came back.
“Gone?”
“Left. Absconded.” Madame spoke evenly, but there was something about the tenor of her voice that betrayed rage. It was a tone that would have quickly cleared any room on the dressmaking floor. “Miss Dorrian was found last night in a most compromising position. A man, in her bedroom, and discovered in—well, let us say in a condition that left no doubt as to their activities.”
I swallowed hard against the sudden desire to laugh. “Oh, glory.”
“Mrs. Fontana told Miss Dorrian to be prepared to appear before Mr. Salazar in the morning.” Mrs. Fontana was the current night supervisor of the single women’s residence. “But in the morning, her room was empty. How any of this might have happened when the women are supposed to be supervised day and night is a question I mean to bring up as a matter of urgency.” Madame positively vibrated with fury, tapping a small foot on the boards. “All that time wasted, and to lose the best dancer of them all—” She looked up at me with a hostile glare. “I hope you do not intend to object to Miss Lombardi taking part.”
“Does Martin know?” was all I thought of to say.
“Non. He has been busy with Mr. Fassbinder, and in any case—” Madame’s mouth pinched itself into an expression that suggested she would simply not let Martin or me object to the substitution.
“And there’s nobody else suitable?”
Madame folded her arms, her gaze on the dancers as they reassembled on the floor. Mr. Mangan was talking to one of the younger house models, a fatuous smile on his handsome face.
“Nobody as well suited. It has been difficult enough to find the right dancers. Miss Lombardi is dark while Miss Dorrian is fair, but they are of a similar height and size. I have sent a note that I require Miss Lombardi for a fitting this afternoon. There is simply too much detail in that gown to redo it completely, Mrs. Rutherford. The embroidery, the lace—” She waved her small hands in the air in an extremely French manner. It occurred to me that Madame was unusually nervous.
“I have no objection in principle to Miss Lombardi taking part,” I said. “She is awfully young, of course—not yet seventeen.”
“But she might easily pass for twenty, which is Miss Dorrian’s age.” I could hear Madame’s teeth grinding. “I hope Miss Dorrian’s lover will marry her because she will not find work in another department store in this town.”
I saw Thea take some instructions from the dancing teacher Madame had hired. She listened carefully, then submitted herself to being held again by Mr. Mangan and executed a few steps with a fluidity that brought a smile to the teacher’s face—and to Madame’s.
“She learns fast.” Madame’s gaze slid to mine.
“The only objection that may arise is that of her brother. He’s due to arrive in New York on the twentieth.”
As luck would have it, the sequence of polka steps Thea was executing brought her close enough to hear what I was saying. She freed herself from Mr. Mangan once more and came toward me.
“Teddy’s coming?”
“Yes, I was going to tell you as soon as I found you. We had a letter, then a telegram to confirm his date of arrival. The twentieth. Next week on Sunday.”
A fleeting, and rare, expression of vulnerability flashed into Thea’s face. Her soft pink lower lip disappeared beneath two little white teeth. And then her mouth firmed, and an expression of defiance came into her eyes.
“Has he not written to you as well?” I asked.
“He probably guesses I wouldn’t answer. I don’t reply to many of his letters. They’re more like lectures, as if he’s certain I’ve embarked on a career of debauchery in his absence.”
There was something about the way she pronounced
the words, as if trying them on for the first time, that made me suspect they were not original to her. Was she also improving her mind by reading? Or was she simply parroting the words of an older, more sophisticated friend? But her remarks about the tone of Teddy’s letters were no doubt accurate enough. Teddy would get nowhere with Thea by lecturing her, as I’d learned some time ago.
“It would be kind to write to him more often,” I said. “I’m sure he only wants what is best for you.”
Thea started to look thunderous, then changed her expression to one of supercilious disdain. “It’s hard to find something to write in reply to his endless recommendations on how to be a godly woman, as Pa and Mamma would want me to be. As if I’m thinking up ways to do wrong every day.” She looked across at the assembling dancers, a faint flush staining her cheeks, and then gave the merest toss of her pretty head before joining them, her movements precise and elegant.
“She would make a fine house model,” Madame said quietly. “Such skin, such hair—and I believe she is learning to control her tongue and her temper.” She sighed. “Eh bien, but she is very young yet. I am prepared to wait.”
“She looks like a child playing dress-up.”
Teddy, a picture of sober respectability in a new black suit, stood as close as possible to the door of the Rose Room. He struck an odd note against the evening finery worn by all those present, including Martin, myself, and all the other staff members. Madame Belvoix was not in the room, having chosen to supervise the dressing of the dancers while Martin and I dealt with our guests.
It was doubtless to our credit that a good many members of Chicago’s wealthiest, youngest elite were present. The ladies sat in delicate chairs; the men stood behind their wives or collected in small knots to talk stock prices, horses, guns, Europe, and politics under cover of the music.
“She looks like a pretty young girl at her first ball. A beautiful young girl.” I noted how the light struck gleams from Thea’s hair and the parure of garnets I had chosen to go with her dress as she revolved gracefully in Mr. Mangan’s arms. The skirt of the gown was fashionably narrow; from the waist down, a panel folded back to reveal a cornucopia of silk roses and gold lace echoed by the deep red roses she wore in her hair. The gold lace trim on the petticoats and her delicate silk pumps peeped in charming glimpses from the hem of the dress as she moved. Golden gauze wafted around the skirt like smoke from a genie’s lamp, giving Thea an almost ethereal appearance. To dance well in such an ensemble took considerable skill.